Pleuvoir
by Xen Silver Quill
Summary: "It was raining the day he first met the professor." Light perfectworldshipping.


It was raining the day he first met the professor.

In his rush to be on time for a psychology lecture at the _Université d'Lumiose_, Lysandre did not see the bespectacled, dark-haired young man until he all but plowed him down. They ended up in a heap on the slippery wet sidewalk, limbs all tangled and textbooks scattered haphazardly. Blue eyes met grey - the same color as the clouded sky above.

_Merde!_ he thought, cheeks flushing in spite of the chill. Embarrassment swept over him in an instant. Flapping his arms like an alarmed pidgey, Lysandre scrambled away. He got to his feet in hurry and straightened out his soaked-through jacket as he did. Instinctively he extended his hand to the stranger, a fellow student by the looks of the school's noivern insignia emblazoned on his satchel.

The hand that grabbed his was firm yet warm. Lysandre pulled him to his feet with a heave and a grunt. "Pardon me, mon-"

He hesitated for a moment when the man's gaze fell on him again. This classmate looked not a day past twenty if that. Windswept hair with flopped over his eyes, darkly framing his boyish features. Cropped sideburns and a stubble along his high cheekbones and chin lent him an almost rugged aspect. A crooked smile hung on his lips. He was handsome youth by most anyone's standards, no disputing that. He looked at Lysandre with what seemed like curiosity mixed with chagrin for his own clumsiness.

"In a bit of a rush, aren't we?" he drawled, his tone light and somewhat winded.

The heat in the ginger's face rose. "P-pardon me, monsieur. I did not see you there. It is only that I am late for my class and..." Reaching to pick up one of his fallen books, he found himself with a bent metal frame instead. Broken bits of glass littered the ground like fine sand. "Merde, merde," he swore under his breath. He held out the gnarled remains of the spectacles stupidly. "Monsieur- Your glasses- I- My sincerest apologies!"

The man's eyebrows lifted, a nonplussed cast to his wide and open mouth. Narrowing his eyes, he thrust his face so close that they were not two inches apart from one another. Lysandre could feel his breath, steaming in the misty drizzle, on his lips. He shuddered involuntarily and took several small steps back. Something of a claustrophobe, he was all too glad to retreat from that scrutinizing, probing stare.

Hearty laughter rang so suddenly through the air that Lysandre jumped. That only made the man chortle even harder. At first Lysandre could only look at him perplexedly, mirroring the confused expression that had been thrown at him a moment before. What did he find so funny? Surely the man was not laughing at _him_. Then it dawned on the ginger: he _was_ laughing at him!

_How dare he?!_ Fair enough to berate his running in to him and breaking his glasses, but how did the cad have the gall to laugh at him? A scowl split Lysandre's face, and his teeth clenched. He flung the glasses back down on the payment. "Pray tell what you find so amusing, monsieur!" And the man just laughed even harder until he seemed about to bust a lung. Lysandre was beginning to see red when his fellow student spoke up again.

"Forgive me, mon ami," he apologized, holding his stomach with both arms and wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "It's only that you look- It's just that-" The man would have gone into another fit, but after a minute or two he managed to at least somewhat compose himself. "Forgive me. I'm not usually so insensitive. There was something about you that just struck me as terribly funny."

When Lysandre's twisted face threatened to skewer him (figuratively, of course), he held up his hands defensively and grinned nervously. "I'm not trying to ridicule you - honestly! With that flaming mane of yours and the way you held out the glasses, you just looked so much like a litleo caught pouncing on the pet chatot. And then you started in with that glare of yours- oh, my Arceus, it was just too much! I don't think an actual litleo could have pulled a more adorable expression."

It went silent between them for several moments. Raindrops pitter-pattering on the sidewalk was the only other sound. Lysandre was fairly sure that his blushing face matched his hair for shade of red. He was not entirely sure whether to be angry, perplexed, or flattered. The non sequitur nature of this fellow he had bumped into invoked a medley of all three he supposed. He felt overwhelmed. Perhaps that was what made him begin laughing, too.

Normally a reserved individual, it started as a mere rumble in his chest. Soon enough, though, it bubbled from his lips. Then it flowing, cascading until Lysandre was booming with laughter. The man chuckled with him. Not much time passed at all before they were both guffawing like madmen.

The streetlamp lit above them, casting the two in its halo. Given how soaked their skin and clothes were, they were more rain than anything else. Textbooks and shattered glass still lay where they had fallen. The whole picture was laughable. It was just as well that Lysandre and this new acquaintance could not see themselves now, or they might have very well died from the silliness of it all.

Eventually they came back to their senses. Lysandre picked up the books, only half-heartedly lamenting their wet state.

"Ah, pardon my manners," the man wheezed, patting Lysandre firmly on the back with great camaraderie. "I never introduced myself." He extended his hand, that eternal smile beaming. "My name is Sycamore, Augustine Sycamore. Yours?"

Lysandre grasped Augustine's hand and shook it briefly. A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I am Lysandre. It is pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Sycamore."

"Please, call me Augustine. Say, are you busy tomorrow afternoon? There's an absolutely chic new cafe on Hibernal Avenue. I'd be thrilled if you'd join me there for a cup of coffee."

While he was tempted to decline - he hardly knew the man, after all - Lysandre could not bring himself to say "no" to that hopeful smile and those bright grey eyes. He nodded stiffly. "I have a class in the moring, but I suppose I could-" He was not quite aloud to finish before the man was off again.

Augustine squealed in delight. "Wonderful! I'll meet you there. Is one o' clock a good time for you?" His new friend nodded again, and he let loose another ear-splitting screech before taking Lysandre's face between his hands. They were smooth and warm against the ginger's face as Augustine turned his head side to side to peck a kiss on both cheeks. "Excellent! Well, until then, au revoir, mon ami."

Lysandre watched the man stride away down the sidewalk, his form flitting in and out of the street lights until turned the street corner and disappeared. Slowly he brought a hand up to where Augustine's lips had touched his skin. "What a strange fellow," he murmured. He left his own way then, a certain grey-eyed, smiling man never far from his mind.


End file.
